


evermore

by kjack89



Series: long story short [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, Past Relationship(s), making amends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29805810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: it was real enough to get me through...| Enjolras works on figuring out his life, with a little help from an old friend.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: long story short [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2103501
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	evermore

**Author's Note:**

> There will be one final part to this series, coming hopefully soon.
> 
> Usual disclaimer. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

“I should’ve expected you to get here before me.”

Enjolras sounded equal parts amused and exasperated, and Combeferre gave him a small smile, watching him divest himself of his coat and scarf before finally all but collapsing into the chair across from him at the restaurant. “Well, punctuality was always more my forte than yours.”

“I got here right on time for our reservation!” Enjolras protested with a scowl. “Just because you have a freakish knack for being somewhere twenty minutes early—”

Combeferre cleared his throat. “Fascinating though my timeliness may be,” he said mildly, “I’m assuming that you didn’t ask me to get dinner out of the blue just to talk about that.” Enjolras suddenly busied himself with his napkin, and Combeferre arched an eyebrow before adding pointedly, “It has been, what, five years?”

Enjolras sighed. “I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not being a better friend,” Enjolras said honestly. “For more or less disappearing once we graduated.”

“Once you graduated,” Combeferre corrected. “Law degrees take 3 years, PhDs take...well, as long as they take.”

Enjolras nodded. “Are you still working on yours?” he asked, trying to steer the conversation back into what he hoped were safer waters.

Combeferre laughed lightly. “No, I think 8 years would be a bit much, even for me.” He paused before adding, “I even managed to get a postdoc out of the way, and secure a tenure-track position.”

“That’s great, Combeferre,” Enjolras told him. “I’m really happy for you.” He hesitated. “And are you and Courf…”

He trailed off, and Combeferre looked at him evenly. “Isn’t he next on your list of former friends you’re making amends with?” he asked, a little coolly. “I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

Enjolras winced. “I’m not making amends,” he mumbled, feeling himself flush, just slightly. “I mean, I am, but not like that.” He shrugged, fiddling with his spoon. “I don’t think they make a twelve step program for losing all sense of direction and abandoning your friends in pursuit of everything you once hated.”

“Aren’t you a little young for a mid-life crisis?”

The question took Enjolras by surprise, and he spluttered on the sip of water he had just taken. “I, uh, I’m not sure I’d call it a mid-life crisis,” he hedged, and when Combeferre just looked expectantly at him, he sighed and looked down at his lap. “I realized recently that I’m not exactly where I want to be. Or, frankly, who I want to be. And part of figuring out who that is means reconnecting with friends who knew me from when I used to.”

Combeferre’s eyes narrowed. “And what brought about this little revelation?”

Enjolras sighed again. “A lot of things,” he said, more defensive than he intended. “Mostly going home to my parents’ for the holidays.”

Combeferre sat back in his chair and nodded. “So you ran into your ex.”

“My— what?”

Enjolras’s voice went up approximately an octave, but Combeferre had the good grace not to comment on it. “Your ex,” he repeated instead, with a sort of patronizing patience that made Enjolras grind his teeth together. “You know, the guy you used to date back in high school who you broke up with so that you could go off and save the world?”

Enjolras gaped at him. “How—”

Combeferre shrugged. “You said you went to your parents’. Last I checked, there was nothing they had to say that would put you on any kind of soul-searching mission, which means it had to be someone else you would’ve run into there. And the only one I can think of is the infamous ex-boyfriend.”

“Don’t call him infamous,” Enjolras said, making a face when he thought of how Grantaire would inevitably react to that moniker. He sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face. “So I’m just that obvious, huh?”

“You and I were roommates for six years,” Combeferre said quietly. “I’d like to think that I picked up a little in that time.” 

Their waiter chose that moment to interrupt, and after ordering, Combeferre looked back at Enjolras expectantly. “So you ran into Grantaire,” he said. “And that meeting has led you to look up your old friends to make amends. Dare I ask what he possibly could’ve said to you to inspire this?”

“He said a lot of things,” Enjolras said, not meaning to sound as evasive as he did. “But mostly he reminded me that I used to expect my life to look a lot different than it currently does.” He made a face. “Which shouldn’t surprise you in the slightest, since I highly doubt you pictured me in a corner office as a junior partner in a corporate law firm either.” 

“Ok,” Combeferre said slowly. “And?”

“And what?”

Combeferre looked flatly at him. “And that’s clearly not the end of the story.”

Enjolras huffed a laugh and scrubbed a hand across his face. “You really do know me too well,” he said, a little wistfully. “Even after all this time. I think that’s why I wanted to start with you. Because I knew you wouldn’t bullshit me.”

“I’ll certainly try not to, at least,” Combeferre told him. “So c’mon, what else happened?”

Enjolras sighed and shook his head slowly. “I found out that he lives here. In the city. Probably has for awhile. And…” He trailed off. “I don’t know. Being around him again...it’d be a little overdramatic and not entirely accurate to say that I realized that I still have feelings for him, especially after ten years, but—” He broke off, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “But I think I could.”

“And you said not to call him infamous.”

Enjolras gave Combeferre a look. “I mean it,” he insisted. “He’s...well, frankly, he’s as big a pain in the ass as he used to be, probably even more so now, but I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t half of the appeal.” He half-smiled. “He’s the only one besides you who can call me on my bullshit.” He leveled a look at Combeferre. “But unlike you, he can actually make me enjoy it, at least a little.”

Combeferre made a face. “Too much information,” he said dryly.

“And besides just calling me on my bullshit, he’s always been a challenge,” Enjolras continued. “I used to think of him as the linchpin: if I could get through to him on any given issue, I could get through to anyone.”

“Which is clearly what true romance is made of.”

Enjolras scowled. “Sarcasm didn’t suit you five years ago, and it still doesn’t.”

Combeferre laughed lightly. “Sorry,” he said, taking a sip of water. “So he still pushes all of the right buttons, and he lives here in the city, which does make me wonder: why isn’t he sitting here across from you?”

Enjolras jerked a shrug. “It’s...complicated.”

“I’ve got time.”

Which was how Enjolras found himself spilling every detail of his time with Grantaire that fateful holiday weekend over their dinner. For his part, he did at least remember to pause and ask Combeferre some questions about his life, but Combeferre did not seem as bothered by his self-absorbed ways as Grantaire had been.

“My life is made up of grading undergraduate papers that all manage to uniquely misinterpret Marx,” Combeferre told him dryly. “This is far more interesting, trust me.”

Once Enjolras had finally admitted everything, Combeferre sat back in his chair, his expression contemplative. “So let me recap here,” he said, taking a sip of coffee, which they had ordered once both men realized they weren’t going to be done with this conversation as quickly as they were done with dinner. “You believe that you need to figure out who you want to be, and actually take strides towards achieving that, before you can look Grantaire up and ask him out the way you desperately want to?”

“I object to the use of the word ‘desperately’ but otherwise, yeah.” Enjolras drained his cup of coffee. “He told me that he couldn’t be a part of me figuring this all out, and I don’t blame him for that.”

“Uh-huh,” Combeferre said, clearly skeptical. “I would note that Grantaire had ten years to grow and become better, and I don’t think you want to lock yourself into that kind of timeline. So how long do you anticipate this actually taking?”

Enjolras shrugged. “I have no earthly idea,” he admitted.

Combeferre sighed heavily and stared off into space for a long moment before nodding. “Ok,” he said simply, standing up. “Let’s go.”

“Go?” Enjolras repeated blankly. “Go where?”

“There’s a 24-hour coffee shop not too far from here,” Combeferre told him. “And since I think our waiter has been trying to flip our table for the past hour now, I figured we might as well head over there.”

“But...why?”

Combeferre arched an eyebrow at him. “So we can work on a plan,” he said, as if it was obvious. “That is why you wanted to start with me, isn’t it?”

“I…” Enjolras flushed. “I mean, it’s not the only reason, and Combeferre, you don’t have to do this—”

“I know I don’t have to,” Combeferre said, a touch impatiently. “But I want to. So what do you say?”

Enjolras didn’t hesitate. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Their first planning meeting lasted until 2 in the morning.

Their second led to them getting kicked out at 4am.

By their fifth meeting, Enjolras was beginning to feel like it was old times again. Granted, rather than trying to plan a rally or protest, he was trying to plan out his entire future while also figuring out how to atone for and move on from his past and present, but that just meant the stakes were slightly higher.

Enjolras clicked send on the job application he had just been filling out for a position working on housing discrimination and tenants’ rights and stretched. “Done,” he announced, and Combeferre looked up from the stack of papers he’s been grading.

“Great,” he said, stifling a yawn. “So does that mean you’re ready to call Grantaire?”

Enjolras stared blankly at him. “What? No.”

Combeferre frowned. “What do you mean, no?”

“I mean, we barely have a plan here.” Enjolras saw the look on Combeferre’s face and quickly backtracked. “I mean, we have an excellent plan that you worked very hard on, including some very impressive spreadsheets and figuring out how I can borrow against my 401(k) so that I can actually afford food and rent while I work on getting a new job, and I am very grateful for that.” Combeferre looked slightly mollified by that, and Enjolras took it as a small victory before continuing, “But it’s not enough. Before I can call Grantaire, I need to actually be able to show him that I’m changing and becoming a better person. And a dozen or so job applications don’t exactly show that, and not just because I’m still adhering to the capitalist structure we both know I’d much rather dismantle.”

“Ok.” Combeferre didn’t quite sound like he believed him, but to Enjolras’s relief, he didn’t seem willing to push the issue either. “So what are you doing next?”

Enjolras stood, grabbing his empty coffee cup. “Well, next I’m getting another cup of coffee.”

Combeferre rolled his eyes. “And after that?”

“After that, I have a letter of resignation to draft.”

A slow smile spread across Combeferre’s face. “That sounds like a great place to start.”

* * *

It was, but it was also just that: a starting point. And while Combeferre and Enjolras did not meet up as frequently in the coming weeks, Enjolras still found himself reminding Combeferre of that, since the man had taken to asking him every time they met up when he was going to reach out to Grantaire.

Combeferre had been an absolute godsend, managing to find time while balancing a full workload to help him navigate reaching out to their other friends to make amends, as well as helping keep him on track in a myriad other ways so that he could actually do the kind of work that he wanted to do, but he was insistent about pressing the Grantaire issue, and Enjolras was beginning to resent him for it, just a little bit.

After all, it wasn’t that Enjolras didn’t want to reach out to Grantaire. But he knew he had to have something to actually show for it when he did. 

If anything, Grantaire had become something of a little voice in the back of his head as he worked to figure out not just his career but also the best ways he could actually help the community in which he lived and worked. Once upon a time, he and Grantaire had stayed up late into the night debating the kinds of lofty ideas that only high schoolers thought actually entailed changing the world; now, Enjolras found himself having similar internal debates about whether mutual aid or the community bond fund were better short term investments, with how he remembered or envisioned Grantaire acting as the devil’s advocate for every point.

It was ironic given that, at one point in time, Grantaire had joked that Enjolras was his conscience, and now here they were, ten years later, their positions reversed. Or at least, reversed for Enjolras, since it wasn’t like Grantaire was really a part of this.

At least, not yet.

And for his part, Enjolras had made his peace with that, or mostly, anyway. Since he couldn’t have the real thing, Grantaire’s voice in the back of his head gently mocking him for thinking there could even be ethical consumption under capitalism was enough for the moment.

Now if only he could get Combeferre to believe him.

He was pretty sure he’d have more success convincing the Grantaire in his head that plutocratic philanthropy was never an acceptable substitute for government intervention.

“Enjolras.”

Combeferre said his name with the tone of someone who’d been trying to get his attention for a few minutes, and Enjolras shook his head to clear it. “Sorry, what were you saying?” he asked.

But Combeferre didn’t answer right away, just looking at him for a long moment before setting his coffee cup down, which was never a good sign. “How long have we been working on this?” he asked, and Enjolras blinked.

“Uh, about five or so months now?”

“And what have you accomplished in those five months?”

Enjolras felt defensive, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. “Well, I quit my job, and I just got a new one, and I’ve started therapy, and I’ve been refocusing my time and energy on local causes doing important on the ground work in the community, and—”

“Right,” Combeferre said, cutting him off. “And why have you been doing this?”

Enjolras scowled. “You know why.”

Combeferre raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, I do,” he said. “But I’m beginning to think that you don’t.”

Enjolras stared at him. “As I told you before,” he started, a little sharply, “it’s so that I can actually become the person that I want to be.”

“Ok, so are you about done?”

Combeferre didn’t ask it sarcastically, but Enjolras still gave him a withering look. “Hilarious.”

“I mean it.” He certainly sounded like he did, leaning forward to fix Enjolras with a knowing look. “Becoming the person you want to be isn’t something that takes a couple of months. It takes years. An entire lifetime in some cases.”

Enjolras jerked a shrug. “So what’s your point?”

For a brief moment, something like disappointment flashed across Combeferre’s face before his expression evened out. “My point is that you are spending so much time trying to figure out who you want to be that you’re missing out on who you are.”

Something in Combeferre’s words stirred Enjolras’s memory and he shook his head. “Say that again.”

Combeferre frowned. “Why?”

“It just...it reminded me of something Grantaire said.” Combeferre just looked at him expectantly and Enjolras flushed slightly and looked away. “That I was, um, more focused on changing the world that I forgot about the people in the here and now,” he muttered, feeling defensive again. “But I’m not trying to change the world! I mean, I am, and this new position working on labor rights is a really good start, but that’s not the point. The whole impetus behind this was to be better for the people here and now, which I am!”

“No, your whole impetus for doing this was to figure out who you actually wanted to be when you grew up,” Combeferre told him. “And you’ve more than figured that out.”

Enjolras shook his head. “In some regards, sure, but—”

“What other regards are there?” Combeferre challenged. 

Again Enjolras shrugged, resisting the urge to cross his arms in front of his chest like a pouting child. “It’s just...it’s complicated.”

“In what way?”

“Because I still don’t know how to be the person that I want to be,” Enjolras snapped. “To be the...the boyfriend that I want to be. Hell, I’m still trying to figure out how to be the kind of friend that I want to be.” 

Combeferre’s expression didn’t change. “And you’ve made some very good strides there.”

Enjolras snorted. “Thanks, I think.”

Combeferre sighed, leaning forward again, his tone turning urgent. “Look, I don’t know Grantaire. I’ve never met the man, so all I know is bifurcated between what you told me many years ago when you were still fresh from your break up and everything you’ve described recently. But what I do know from everything you have told me is this: Grantaire is probably the only person in your entire life, yourself included, who has never once cared more about who you could be than who you were.” Enjolras flinched, remembering too well that Grantaire had told him that he wasn’t disappointed in him, that Enjolras was disappointed in himself. “And if you don’t stop trying to make something of yourself, you’re going to make an entire life that has no room for him, or anyone else for that matter.”

“What does that mean?” Enjolras asked softly.

“It means that you may not have everything figured out, but if you’re serious about wanting to build something with Grantaire – or, again, with anyone because I personally wouldn’t put all your stock into someone you haven’t had a relationship with in a decade—” Combeferre had made the point several dozen times over the past few months, and Enjolras rolled his eyes just like he had every time before. “—then you have to realize there are some things you’ll need to figure out together.”

“Like what?”

Combeferre gave him a look. “Like what dating actually looks like for you. And how to balance the eighteen different causes you’ve already taken up with, you know, another person who will probably want to spend time with you.”

Enjolras made a face, recognizing that Combeferre was right and not wanting to admit it. “How did you get so wise?” he asked instead, a little dryly.

“Well, while you were working 120 hours a week for the man, I was busy getting my heart broken and figuring all of this out for myself,” Combeferre told him. “While I was working 80 plus hours a week for a broken university system, I would add.”

He sounded just slightly smug at that, and Enjolras laughed lightly. “Yeah, well, we can’t all be Superman.” 

“No, but thankfully, there’s someone who works in an art gallery about ten blocks from here who’s never once wanted you to be Superman.” Enjolras frowned and was about to ask what he was talking about when Combeferre slid a piece of paper across the table. “For you, for when you’re ready.”

Enjolras started to reach for it but stopped himself. “What is it?” he asked instead, his brow furrowed.

“It’s where Grantaire works,” Combeferre said, and when Enjolras stared at him, he added, “After our first chat, I figured you would need this eventually, so I asked around.”

Enjolras stared down at the piece of paper that held the other part of what he’d been waiting for and working for the past few months. He had expected when or of this moment had ever come to feel...well, something, at least. Something monumental.

Instead, he just felt a slight buzz of nerves.

He looked back up at Combeferre. “How do I know if I’m ready?”

“I think you already do.”

As usual, Combeferre was right, and Enjolras exhaled sharply and swallowed before grabbing the piece of paper and scanning the address written in Combeferre’s cramped handwriting. He read the address a hundred times over as if he needed to memorize it, as if the slip of paper might disappear, and once he was fairly certain it was imprinted in his mind, he again looked up at Combeferre. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “For everything.”

Combeferre smiled at him. “Despite what you might think, you were never that bad a friend,” he said, standing up and clapping Enjolras on the shoulder. “Refill?”

“Sure,” Enjolras said, watching Combeferre head to the counter before glancing back at the paper with Grantaire’s address, a small smile creeping across his face.

This was it.

He still didn’t have everything figured out, but as Grantaire had put it, he was no longer the same fucked up mess he had been in high school. And while he was still working through the realization that he was never going to be perfect, he didn’t need his therapist to tell him that no one he dated would ever be perfect, either. Especially Grantaire, who had never once been perfect. 

But he had a feeling, and a glimmer of hope, that their imperfections might finally fit together. And for the first time since breaking up all those years ago, he knew that what they both deserved was a chance to grow together. It was the only way they would ever work, and Enjolras wanted at the very least to try to make it work.

He owed Grantaire that much, for loving him despite everything, at least once upon a time.

He owed himself that much.

And all that was left was convincing Grantaire of that.


End file.
